


Sword-Of Unexpected

by eris_of_imladris



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Belly Dancing, Fluff and Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4805981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eris_of_imladris/pseuds/eris_of_imladris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meredith finds the red lyrium sword... and decides to dance with it on her head. Crack fic ahead!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword-Of Unexpected

The balance would be precarious, she could see this much from the sharp sloping downward angle of the blade. The beautiful blade with its shining hilt and the light bathing her face with the glow of fresh blood. It was her new blade, and she would call it Conviction, and it would be her honor and glory. No one would ever forget the deeds the blade would do in public - but she had a special purpose for the blade in private.

Her rationale was simple. The blade's lyrium sung, and she could weave a dance to its melody.

Atop her head, the sword felt heavy, a dull burden, and her balance shifted warily from foot to foot, hoping not to be impaled by a falling blade. She was one who could appreciate the beauty in the pain, the sword digging a ridge into the soft flesh of her head. Her hair cascaded loosely down her shoulders, not bound by anything as it usually was in battle.

She was in battle with herself, although she did not know it yet.

The feeling was electrifying. The sword on her head, the precarious balance of life and death all caught up in her ability to keep her body perfectly still. The few seconds it took for her head to adjust with the sword were the times she felt most alive, like she was in a struggle and vanquishing her opponents, like no one could stand against her. Anyone who could balance a sword on her head could rule a city, could keep absolute authority over her people.

Then came the dance.

Her steps started out tentative at first, and she reached up with gauntleted hands to grip the sword to make sure it would not fall. Although there were healers literally around the corner from her office, she had no desire to skewer her foot, especially not with so many mages around. If she was bleeding, a mage could use that to control her mind. She could not allow that. She must not! She must be strong, eternally strong. Strong enough to balance the blade on her head and take one step, then two, then begin to move her hips.

She did not wear her armor for this, of course, but when she danced she felt like she could conquer the world.

The world would fit into the hands she curled and unfurled, the shimmies and the sunshines. The world would bow before her might, before the ability she had to take something unexpected and turn it into reality. The world would know her not as a tyrant, but as a dancer, graceful with a sword in defense of her city. She had, of course, convinced herself that this was training. Learning how to get acquainted with her newly forged sword that glowed red when the sun went down.

She hummed a quiet song, a children's ditty, adding in a few small beats when she moved her hips, and her movements were nothing short of magical.

Her humming was interrupted by the swish of a paper underneath her door. Was this some kind of important missive? She bent her knees, still balancing her glowing sword on her head, and with the tips of her gauntleted fingers she managed to grasp the corner of the paper, bending it.

ATTENTION KIRKWALL TEMPLARS!  
Due to morale problems, the Kirkwall Templar Order will be hosting a talent show for anyone affiliated with the Chantry on the 13th of Justinian in the main hall of the Gallows.  
Some basic rules:  
Combat demonstrations will be prohibited due to the fact that all templars presumably have some proficiency with their weapon(s) of choice  
Anyone found drugging with lyrium beforehand to enhance performance will be disqualified  
Lyrium chugging is not a talent  
Killing blood mages is also not a talent. DO NOT bring one into the Gallows. If you find one, kill them where they stand - this is OFFICIAL policy! Bringing blood mages to the Gallows presents a great risk - and greatly annoys the Tranquil who clean our floors. If any blood mages are at the event - bring the bodies outside for the Guard to deal with  
Magic is also not a talent because templars are unable to do magic and this would constitute discrimination, and we all know templars are an anti-discriminatory organization

Now this was an opportunity she couldn't pass up. She gently took the sword of her head and put it in its usual position strapped to her back. She walked out of her office with a great sense of purpose, taking care to linger and observe each templar who signed up. A few quailed when they saw her standing there, but by the time she finally reached the front of the line, she did not hesitate to sign her name.

Knight Commander Meredith would win with her sword dancing. She did not play to lose.

Her body was not built for dancing. She was not a dancer. She was a woman of war, and this dancing was not something she had a particular talent in. She was not a dancer, she knew this, yet in her heart she knew this was the right thing and she knew she would not feel fulfilled otherwise.

The other acts passed. Her heart beat with the force of a blood mage pushing her blood. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know anything but the sword in her hand. The sword was so beautiful, it glowed so red in the light, and this competition was to be its debut.

She stood alone in the center of the stage. No one needed to ask her name, but they wondered why she was wearing a long cape drawn over her body instead of her conventional armor. They looked at her as if they'd never seen her before, and in all fairness they had never seen her like this before. They hadn't seen her this confident, even in the thick of battle. She held not a shred of nervousness in her heart. She had found her place.

The music started as her robe fell.

Her costume underneath was a dancer's costume, everything important of course covered by chainmail, leaving her looking like a glittering star as the lyrium sword atop her head began to glow, and the world stopped to watch her dance.

It was true that she wanted it, and when she wanted something, she never did a second-rate job. Talent aside, she had been practicing for months and even though she did not have the perfect body or the perfect head or the perfect way to stop the blood mages from invading her city but she could do this, she knew in every cell of her body that she could do it and nothing could stop her.

She was a veritable force, a mountain, yet as graceful as a spring as she took her first few steps. The blade shook with power, strumming with power as it flowed through her body. Never before had she owned her body. As a female templar she had always felt out of place, like she was supposed to be something or someone different, but there was not a man in the entire Gallows who could rock this sword like her, there was no one else who could have her courage to face the ordeals she had faced and come out the other end stronger.

Her beauty was not in the sexiness of the female form - to be sure, there were some who observed that - but to her she knew she was the strongest person in the room emotionally. She danced to her family's deaths, she danced to all the ones she failed to save, she danced to the locket finally visible around her neck where her sister's art was displayed for all to see. She was not ashamed of herself anymore. She was owning herself for the first time in her life.

Her body was a killing machine, but never had it been called beautiful. Her sword was designed to go through people but instead she had conquered it, she had conquered it and when it whispered to her in the dark she took its ideas and worked them into her moves. She was never stronger, never more incredible, and yet here she was trying to prove her worth to a group full of people. She didn't know if they liked her, or merely respected her as their commander, but in this moment she had risen above the pettiness of who liked who. At this time she was supernatural, she was more than human, she was the embodiment of how she wanted to feel and nothing could take it away.

The back bends felt like her spine would wrench open. Her feet bore the bruises of the sword as it had fallen in practice, many times. But she kept dancing, whether or not her legs were in perfect formation, whether or not her stomach was flat, whether or not she was ideal or perfect. She was herself and that was what mattered, and that self had come out through the dance.

She did not know the results of who won the competition. All she knew was that when she stepped down from the stage, she respected herself like never before. She had won her body back from the terror and the pain, and that was what mattered to her. She was a winner, and she knew this as she held onto her sword with a smile.


End file.
